


There's Nothing Wrong With Me Loving You

by Ann_Drist



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol, Captain Falcon (get it that's the ship name), Cooking, Fluff, Food, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Marvin Gaye - Freeform, POV Steve Rogers, POV Third Person Limited, Romance, Song Lyrics, Steve's list, Superheroes having downtime, Takes place between CATWS and CACW, When Sam and Steve got together, short and sweet, short one-shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 04:37:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7345189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ann_Drist/pseuds/Ann_Drist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So far, the only Marvin Gaye songs Steve has listened to are from the "Trouble Man" soundtrack. That changes one evening at Sam's apartment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's Nothing Wrong With Me Loving You

Out of Steve, Sam, and Nat, Sam was the only one who knew how to cook. 

Or, cook well, at least. 

In his kitchen, Steve had a whole shelf of cookbooks. They were filled with amazing foods that he’d never heard of before he’d woken up in the future. Er, now. In the present. He hadn’t even known what fondue was only a few years ago (it felt like a few years ago to him, even though it had been 1945). So Steve knew he had a lot to learn about food. 

Clint had showed him where to find old Julia Child episodes and YouTube cooking tutorials online, and that had been a game-changer. (Internet, so helpful.) But Steve tended to cook only for himself, because that way he could eat his mistakes. He made a lot of mistakes. 

Sam, on the other hand, cooked with a practiced ease. The first time he’d ever made breakfast for him and Nat (oh god, that sounded suggestive, didn’t it, it wasn’t like that), it hadn’t exactly been a social call. But now that they weren’t on the run from the law, the three of them tried to make time to meet up and hang out. 

Usually, Sam would invite them over and cook for them. On more special occasions, they’d go out. Sam knew all the best spots in DC that weren’t listed in the official city guides Steve had been reading.

Nat got called away for work more than Steve and Sam put together. She was in demand for jobs that required something more subtle than a star-spangled suit or a winged jetpack. 

Tonight, the three of them were celebrating Nat’s return from one of those assignments. Sam had picked a nicer restaurant for the occasion. A place with white tablecloths, more than one fork per setting, and a wine list that went beyond “house red” and “house white.” It was also rumored to have the best crab cakes in DC. 

As they looked over their menus, Sam gave them the run-down on which dishes the restaurant did best. Steve and Nat both placed their orders based on Sam’s recommendations. (As usual.)

After they were served, Sam asked how they liked their food before the wait staff got a chance. (Like he always did.)

“Nat, how’s the shrimp étouffée?” 

“Delicious. I haven’t had a chance to get fresh seafood in ages.” 

“But you’re still not gonna tell us where you were,” Sam teased. 

Nat put another shrimp in her mouth and shook her head. “Not important.” 

“That’s okay, we trust you,” Steve said. 

Nat crossed her arms. Her eyes flicked over to Sam. He smiled and nodded, his eyes kind and open like Steve’s.

Nat hunched her shoulders a little, and raised her wine glass up in a silent toast. 

The boys followed suit. 

Sam cleared his throat. “Uh, Steve, how’s the crab cakes?” 

Steve took his second bite and considered. “They’re ah, really good, don’t get me wrong. But they’re not the best in the city.” 

Sam raised his eyebrows. 

“Well, they’re not. Yours are better.” 

Sam laughed, embarrassed and pleased. 

Nat shot Steve one of her amused little smirks.

Sam lowered his head, toyed with the stem of his wine glass, and looked back up at Steve. “Well, just don’t let the chef hear you say that.” 

“Yeah, no, I won’t.” Steve shoved another mouthful of perfectly tasty (but not as good as Sam’s) crab cake in his face, and wished Nat would stop looking at him like she knew something he didn’t. 

 

 

A week later, Nat had jetted off to another (presumably different) classified location, and Steve had an invite to Sam’s for dinner. He showed up at Sam’s apartment with a six-pack of his favorite beer. 

Sam had clearly been hard at work. His apron was so splattered with food stains, the “Kiss the Cook” lettered across the chest was almost unreadable. 

The aroma hit Steve as soon as he stepped inside. “Something smells amazing.” 

“Seafood gumbo smells amazing.” 

“Mmm.” 

“Ooh, you brought me the good stuff. You can put those in the fridge.” 

As usual, Sam had music on. Steve thought he recognized the song, so he took a peek at the iPod. Sam had it set to the Marvin Gaye station on Pandora, and the main theme from “Trouble Man” was playing. 

“You got anything you need me to chop up? Dice, julienne?” 

“Nah, this is a slow-cook recipe. Mainly giving it a final simmer for a bit longer.” 

Steve shrugged agreeably. “All right, I’ll set the table then.” 

He stepped close and gently touched the small of Sam’s back. “On your left,” Steve cautioned, reaching into the cabinet above him.

Sam swatted Steve’s ass with a dishtowel. “On my left. If you don’t get out of here and go set the table—”

“I needed plates—agh!” Sam followed him across the kitchen, swatting him with the dishrag until Steve scooted out into the kitchen.

There was a cluster of pillar candles in the middle of the table, already lit. That was a nice touch, Steve thought. 

Sam snapped his fingers. “Wait, there’s something you can do.”

“Yeah?” 

“Taste it, tell me if it’s spicy enough before I add in some more pepper.”

“Go ahead and add it, I can handle spicy, Sam.”

“Uh-huh. This from the dude who told me they used to boil everything? In plain water? C’mon, taste it first.” 

Steve walked back into the kitchen. Sam was stirring the gumbo with a wooden spoon. He glanced up and smiled. “I don’t want a repeat of the time we went to that Thai place. Your face was all red, eyes watering. You were shoving plain rice in your mouth as fast as you could to put out the fire, remember?”

“Okay, all right.”

A new song began, and Steve was suddenly very aware of the candlelight coming in from the kitchen table, and how close Sam was to him in the small kitchen. 

_“I’ve been really tryin’ baby. Trying to hold back this feeling, for sooo long.”_

Sam turned around and held a spoonful of broth up to Steve’s lips.

Steve leaned forward to take a delicate sip. “Mm. Okay, that’s amazing.” He licked his lips. “You can make it hotter though, if you want to.” 

Sam turned around to tend to the gumbo and Steve flushed, cursing himself for sounding like cheesy opening lines of a porno. 

_“And if_ _you_ _feel like I feel baby…”_

Only with sexier music than your average porno. Steve tugged at his collar. 

Sam turned back around with another spoonful of broth. “Okay, try it now.” 

_“Come on, oh, come on. Whoo! Let’s get it on.”_

Sam held the spoon up to his lips. Steve’s blush was definitely visible now, he could feel it. 

“Oh, wow. That’s perfect.” 

Maybe it was something in the way that he said it. Or maybe this Marvin Gaye song Steve had never heard before was finally getting to Sam, too. Sam looked up into his eyes, and he was standing _so close_ that it seemed easy and natural to learn forward a bit and softly kiss him on the lips. 

Steve leaned back. “Sorry. Ahem. I, ah, blame Marvin Gaye, this song is intense.” 

Sam smiled slowly. “I should send him a thank-you letter.” 

Steve stood up taller. “Really? You—” He looked over Sam’s shoulder. “Ah, shit.” 

“Whoa!” The gumbo was starting to boil over. Sam rushed to the stove to cut back the heat. He stirred briskly, bringing it back to a low simmer. 

Once it was under control, he shot Steve an amused glance over his shoulder. “Makin’ kissy-faces with me, trying to distract me from my culinary masterpiece.” He shook his head mockingly. 

Steve stared down at his shoes, blushing harder and grinning like a fool. He’d been so afraid, for ages, that if he said anything to Sam about the feelings he had, Sam’s eyes would have light up in sympathy, and he would have said, “Oh, Steve, I like you so much as a friend, _but_ …”

But Steve had taken the plunge, and consummate chef Sam Wilson had been so distracted by one simple kiss from him that the pot had boiled over. Steve felt so pleased and unexpectedly happy he hardly knew what to do with himself. 

Sam tapped the spoon on the edge of the pot and set it aside. “All right. _Now_ that’s set up for a low simmer, and it’ll be ready in about fifteen minutes.” 

Steve nodded. 

“So in the meantime …” Sam gestured at the slogan on his apron. Steve laughed. He stepped forward and gathered Sam up in his arms. 

_“There’s nothing wrong with me loving you.”_

 

Once dinner was ready, they sat close together at the table, knees touching. They kept feeding each other bits of food.

“Have you tried the okra yet? Here, have one of mine.” 

“ _Mmm_.” 

“It’s good, right?”

“It is good. And, okay, I know I told you to add more pepper, but it makes the bits of sausage a bit too spicy for me.” Steve held up a spoonful of gumbo and looked at Sam. 

Sam chuckled, and leaned in so Steve could feed him a bite.

“Sorry if I made it too hot for you, Steve.” His tone was deadpan, but his eyes were smoldering. 

Steve blushed and stared at his food. “Save it for after we’re done eating.” 

Sam grinned. 

 

After dinner was eaten and the dishes were done, Steve and Sam were tangled together on the living room couch. Steve’s feet dangled off the edge. 

“So … not to be too forward, but, you’re welcome to stay as late as you like.” 

Steve traced a finger down Sam’s chest. “Normally I’d say ‘buy a guy dinner first,’ but you cook better than any chef in the city, so…”

“Stop it, I’m blushing.” 

“You really want me to stop?”

“Not really, no.” 

 

 

 

 

Two weeks later, Nat was back in town again. 

Steve and Sam were outside the restaurant when Steve’s phone buzzed. 

 

         Debrief went longer than expected

         En route, see you in 15 

         :)

 

Steve showed the text to Sam. 

“Hmm, I wonder what we could do for fifteen minutes.” He fluttered his eyelashes at Steve. 

That was how Sam wound up pressed up against the bike rack with Steve all over him. 

A few passers-by hooted and hollered encouragingly. A cyclist rang their bell at them, and a couple motorists tapped their horns. 

It was all background noise to Steve and Sam. They were grinning at each other between kisses. 

When someone pointedly cleared their throat, Steve and Sam turned their heads.Natasha was standing a few feet away, trying very hard to keep her smirk from turning into a full-on smile. 

“Boys.” 

Sam gave her an easy grin. “Hey Nat! What’s new with you?” 

“Nothing much.” She walked over to them. “But it doesn’t take an intelligence operative to tell there’s something new with you two.” 

Steve gave Sam a look of mock confusion. “Did we do anything new?” He pursed his lips. “We tried that new ramen bar downtown, went jogging along Embassy Row instead of the National Mall like usual…” 

Nat swatted Steve and pulled them both in for a hug. 

“Well, I’m happy for you guys. And surprised. Rogers, I wouldn't have thought you’d know how to get past first base.” 

“Internet. So helpful.” 

Nat rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “Alright, lovebirds, let’s go celebrate. My treat.” 

Steve walked ahead to check in at the hostess stand. Nat hung back with Sam for a moment. 

“How did this happen, away?”

Sam grinned. “It’s a great story. We’ll tell you the whole thing over dinner.” 

“Or you could tell me now.” 

“No, no, I need time to tell the whole thing properly.” He leaned in close to Nat. “We have a _song_ now.” 

**Author's Note:**

> The song that comes on when Sam and Steve are in the kitchen is Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get It On." 
> 
> The fic title is a line from "Let's Get It On" (in case you didn't catch that). It's definitely recommended listening while you're reading this fic. (I mean, it's Sam and Steve's song, so c'mon, you gotta listen.)


End file.
